


At Ease

by FoundlingMother



Series: Alternate MCU [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lazy Mornings, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundlingMother/pseuds/FoundlingMother
Summary: "'Let’s run away together,' Valkyrie jests. Half-jests."





	At Ease

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [lesbiansassemble](https://lesbiansassemble.tumblr.com/)'s femslash challenge. I chose the prompt "Let’s run away together."
> 
> I wrote this in my Alternate MCU series timeline, but it's so general it neither possesses real spoilers, nor requires anyone to have read anything else in the series (and good thing too since nothing is done), and could easily be read as part of MCU canon.

It’s not the sun that wakes them, though Midgardian blinds are pathetic, permitting thin stripes of morning light to cut across the width of their bedroom. No, it’s the noise. The noise of Æsir rising to toil another day rebuilding their lost kingdom.

The compound they occupy is spacious and functional, allowing for more freedom and exercise than when they were aboard the _Statesman_ , but the world outside echoes. With footsteps, the clatter of tools, the thud of boxes and barrels, beeps, honks, and voices. Many, many voices. Shouting. Laughing. Complaining. Talking.

Valkyrie has found breaking her centuries-old habit of sleeping and waking at her leisure to be a monumental task. She frowns toward the door—toward the _noise_ —before rolling her stiff neck, nose brushing flesh.

Her head rests on a shoulder blade, shifting with every breath its owner takes, the pattern becoming uneven and shallow as they wake.

This change she thinks she’s adjusted to. To knowing who she’s woken up beside.

Valkyrie peppers kisses on the shoulder blade, the lovely, impressive bicep, and sneaks one on the inside of the arm. Her fingers brush over the muscular back. A true warrior maiden’s back.

Sif shifts, craning her neck to peer down over her shoulder.

“Let’s run away together,” Valkyrie jests. Half-jests.

Sif turns away.

“We could go somewhere warm. Sleep and wake whenever it suits us. Hunt whenever it suits us.” She scoots higher on the bed, lips hovering above Sif’s ear. “Fuck whenever it suits us.”

Sif levers herself up on her elbows, shaking Valkyrie off, and flopping onto her side facing her.

“Or we could not be remiss in carrying out our duties,” she suggests, smile content and indulgent. “Run drills. Attend the Council meeting. Help Thor with the construction of Asgardia.”

“Get drinks with His Majesty. Listen to the two of you reminisce. Until he tries contacting Loki. While drunk.” Valkyrie hums, pretending to consider. Her fingers thread through Sif’s dark hair, encouraging her closer. “It’s not a bad idea, but I think I prefer sleeping in and sex.”

She seals their lips together, unhurried. Sleepy, even. Sif’s hand skates over Valkyrie’s hip. She hums, content, rubbing their noses together when Valkyrie draws back. They share breath, a hair's breadth between them.

Valkyrie presses Sif into the mattress, diving back in to capture her lips whilst they’re parted in surprise. She grins against Sif’s mouth, then deepens the kiss, tasting her.

Stale morning breath. Not a good flavor, but expected. Perfect.

Warmth pools, just the other side of urgent. Sif’s fingers dig into Valkyrie’s hip. They’re both a tad breathless.

She slides down the column of Sif’s throat, listening to her pant. She reaches her collarbone. Bites.

Sif swallows, tongue working. “Could you not enjoy a better brew? Jón’s leaves a dreadful aftertaste. Fullhugi’s? He’s a great deal more skilled,” she pants, not unkind. Only curious. Only amused.

The line of questioning jostles the precarious unease within Valkyrie. She shuffles away, propped up on her forearms.

Maybe she shouldn’t feel so out of place among the Æsir—her people. Maybe she wouldn’t if circumstances were different. But they are what they are. And she is… whatever she has become. To herself and to them.

“Jón’s young.”

Sif shoots her a quizzical look. “You cannot drink what the old and world-wise brew?”

Valkyrie runs her thumb over the sheets, smoothing the cheap, wrinkled cloth. She hates this: being exposed.

That’s not new. That’s the warrior in her. Never leave oneself vulnerable to attack.

“He wasn’t here before. Wasn’t alive when I—” She frowns at the bedspread. “My sisters and I used to drink together in Fullhugi’s tavern. Radgrid recounted tales, and the other patrons would listen from their tables. Fullhugi listened. Well enough that some days he’d fill in a detail she’d forgotten. Like when Svava lost a boot while we pursued a beast through a bog.”

The unease chokes her throat.

Fullhugi does not remember her—does not remember her sisters. Only knows the Valkyrior through fictionalized accounts of their most impressive deeds. Only as heroes in fables.

Odin stole the memories of them, and with those memories, her personhood.

Sif’s big toe traces her calf muscle. Her fingers tilt Valkyrie’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Hers are soft, and a little sad. Sympathetic.

“You know, I have never shirked my responsibilities. Not once. I knew the men would use the excuse to proclaim me incapable or indolent.”

Her smile, when it spreads, is cheeky.

“But I never had a bed partner beguiling enough to tempt me, either.”

Valkyrie raises one eyebrow, smirking, leaning into Sif’s space. “Do you mean to imply that you do now?”

“Perhaps.”

She nibbles along Sif’s jaw, breath tickling her neck, drawing deliciously un-Sif-like giggles from her. Bubbly.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Three sharp raps on their door, disrupting the intimate mood.

“Rise, sisters! I expect to see you on the training green in fifteen minutes! Recruits will not train themselves!” Gunnhild yells, a touch too loud and cheerful (she is her father’s daughter, Sif has said). She does not wait for their response, hammering footsteps signifying her retreat.

Valkyrie grimaces. “Children,” she curses. “How did I let myself get saddled with _that_ responsibility?”

Sif shrugs, creasing the sheet with new wrinkles. “You possess a good heart?”

“No, that doesn’t sound right.” Valkyrie rolls to the other side of the bed, reaching blindly. Tunic in hand, she propels herself into an upright position, pulling the fabric over her head. “I just haven’t been around any in a while. Forgot how crafty they are. Like scavengers.”

She tugs her locked hair from the neckline of her tunic, glancing over at Sif, who rolls her eyes at the jest. Half-jest.

And Valkyrie—Brunnhilde—feels at ease.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Check out the [nessies10kchallenge tag](https://lesbiansassemble.tumblr.com/tagged/nessies10kchallenge) for more wlw content!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://foundlingmother.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://foundlingmother.dreamwidth.org/)


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